Denial
by Machinesister
Summary: Kyle's in denial about his sexual orientation, and Butters refers him to a psychiatrist, Dr. Fidel. But things don't always go as expected, and soon he finds himself in a vicious circle of love, hate and unspoken desire. Slash, KyleStan and OCKyle.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Dr. Fidel is, though. Gah.

My mind was running wild.

How could I ever think of him as someone like that? Someone more than a friend, a

it grosses me to say this.

A lover.

Every touch from him made me feel like shuddering at their intensity, how they were made with such friendly intentions and yet still managed to infect my entire body with their warmth, with how meaningful I interpreted them to be. Even a hug made me stupid with happiness, a false hope that maybe everything would run against all of my surface intentions and he would really love me back.

in _that_ way. The same way in which I'm worried I might be loving him.

How could this feel so...so natural? When obviously being...gay is just wrong? Against all the morals I've been brought up by?

Why me?

Stan. My thought process run from him, around, and then back to him in a sort of...sickeningly familiar circle. Goddammit. It's not his fault. It's not his fault. It's not not his fault. It can't be not not his fault. Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into? My mind runs back to lunch today, when Stan, Kenny and I were sitting eating lunch, rolling our eyes at Cartman struggling to push his way across to the dessert counter for seconds.

"Cartman is such a fatass, I don't think the floor is going to want to hold his mountain of fat for much longer," I commented, poking the macaroni sans ham in my plate with a fork.

"Yeah," said Kenny between wolfings of the food on his own plate. Between my small talk and Kenny's macaroni-wolfing (50 at least) induced agreement, Stan was hardly saying anything.

"Stan. Stan?" I turned to him, a little worried at his silence. But what met me...

He lifted his fork to his mouth, all the while staring blankly at me, locking my eyes with his own. The single, creamy pipe of macaroni rested on his bottom lip for a second - then a glossy pink tongue swept it into his mouth before darting out to catch the sauce that was around his lips. Five second, I figured it was. Five seconds.

"Ah." my mouth must have been hanging really wide, because the next thing I knew, Stan was speaking to me again, leaning across the table to shake me on my arm.

"Kyle? Dude are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay, I'm fine," I said, shaking my head vigorously. _What the fuck were you doing to me just now?_

I don't know whether it was my imagination was doing thngs to me, or if it was real. But no, Stan wouldn't know what I was thinking, would he? And the chances of him feeling the same way was about a million to one. Sure, he's my best buddy, but I bet he hasn't even thought of _being in love with me_. A part of my fleeting, selfish fantasy. The reality was cruel and blunt and made me feel like an asshole. So much that even my awkward confirmation of my sanity and straightness made the heat rise in my cheeks. As if it were a lie. A lie that made the rest of the day soar by in a blurry, colourful haze of confusion...

I glanced at my surroundings, at my room, at what was real. It all felt so tight, so constricting. Almost as if I was in a tank of water, with Stan's face floating all around me. His image was sharp in my mind, and I found that I could no longer look away from his darkened eyes.

_I need to get out of here; sort things out with myself. This can't be right, I can't just all of a sudden hit on...on my best friend._

I rose from my seat on my bedroom floor, pushed past my bedroom door and set on my way out of the house.

The ground was a really interesting thing to look at if you're bending all your will to concentrate on it. The concrete pavement had an interesting texture, sandy and grey, bubblegum littering the road flattened by passers by. I didn't look up. Or rather, I simply couldn't. Lifting my gaze would mean having to face that goddamn blue sky, the same colour of...

"Hey Kyle!" I jumped at the sudden greeting as I was jolted out of my thoughts. I spun around to the cheerful voice behind me, being, upon inspection, none other than Butters sitting on a dumb picnic blanket.

"Hi Butters," I managed thickly. For some reason the muscles in my face were being decidedly uncooperative. I couldn't smile. I just didn't feel like it.

"Oh g - gee Kyle, you looked kinda down. What's the matter buddy, y - you know you can tell me anything," said Butters walking up to me, looking rather sorry at my plight.

I wanted to tell him that it was none of his goddamn business how I was looking. But it was so tempting to blurt it all out, the inner dilemma, the confusion, to someone who seemed as though he'd understand.

...And it took a lot of self control to stifle that idea.

"Kyle? Are you feeling sick? Be - because I can get my Dad to take you to the h - hospital is you want."

"No no no, it's nothing, I just sometimes I get these really strange thoughts. That all," I tried to make my voice as casual as if I were commenting on a tv program. I had been confident that it would sound better than that. And that my hands wouldn't have waved in such a manner of classic denial.

"Hm, that sounds pretty serious, maybe you should see a psy - psychiatrist or something," suggested Butters, shrugging with an all-too-friendly smile, "my Mom and Dad s - sometimes t - take me to Dr. Fidel down the road. If I'm thinking bad thoughts, he - he makes everything be - better a - and tells me there's nothing to worry about."

My eyes widened. "What! Are you fucking nuts? I'm not going to some crazyass fucking psychiatrist! Cartman's gonna have to become a model before I do!" I knew it was a bad idea in the first place, to ask Butters. A psychiatrist. Nobody goes to them anymore! That kid is seriously messed up, he'll believe anything his parents tell him. Ha. I remember saying that to Kenny after Butters told him his Dad said that people only got poor from investing in bad stocks.

Kenny's only response was to lift an eyebrow and mumble, "Geez Kyle, you're such a hypocrite."

"What?" I told him, outraged. "I don't listen to anything that they tell me, do I? Do I? Stan, what do you think?" I looked at my best friend, hoping to garner some support.

"Er, I - I don't think it would be that great if I answered that." he averted his deep blue eyes. I never noticed them until recently. Never noticed how - how strange they made me feel. _Comfortable_, almost. And now, every time he blinked they were a distraction, almost always making my own eyelashes bat involuntarily. And that - that, and a myriad of other things almost make me right. If I believed it...

Mom had always said that homosexuality was for the heathen, for those who weren't Chosen. That means that I shouldn't have had to deal with this. But I am...at least, trying to. It made everything so much more confusing. So much -

"Eh, Kyle?"

"Huh?" I blinked. Hey, I hadn't realised that my eyes were still open. "Oh, Butters. It's you."

"Well of course it's me, silly, you've been standing here all along. What's the matter?"

"Oh - er - nothing. Er - listen Butters, you keep doing whatever you're doing - I...I gotta go." and I hurried off.

Yep, bad idea. I could handle it on my own. I was sure of myself.

_Dr. Fidel..._

Dr. Fidel? What the fuck, That's bullcrap! He's not going to make me feel any better, or surer of myself than I was or would ever make myself.

...or would he?

I couldn't tell anyone about this. It was a dark, very dark secret. If Mom and Dad knew, I'd probably be grounded for life. If Cartman knew about this, it could only mean that he would be able to lengthen his already overwrought Jewish insults with the word _faggot_. If Kenny knew, he'd tell Stan. And if Stan knew...

I could not imagine the shock, the anger or the sadness that would cross his face if he was to hear about it.

Dying of awkwardness or loss of a friend was surely a more direct route to death than trying to work my life out with a shrink.

What did I have to lose, anyway? Suddenly, the idea did not seem so insane after all.

_Yeah, you're gonna lose your sanity to some gay-talking, tree-hugging asshat, that's what!_ Part of me was screaming in protest at my decision's betrayal. And yet another part of me was sighing in relief, knowing he would probably call up some scientific evidence that I was not a fag, or something like that.

The billboard across the street blared the words 'Tom John's Counselling Clinic' in large, day-glo letters.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped off the pavement and crossed the road.


	2. 2

Disclaimer: Please don't make me say something I don't want to say -sob-. Dr. Fidel is still mine, and beware, he is EVUL.

Author's note: Thank you to all my great reviewerss for the last chapter! A big fat wad of appreciation goes to , Tim, Jean19, Anime Qtie and MooseyDoom777. Ye rock! I forgot to mention that this is my first SP fic, so there's going to be a few...weird bits. The boys are in seventh grade (!).

The inside of the counselling clinic looked more like a mental asylum. Everything was this scary white colour, from the walls to the uniform of the blonde lady at the counter.

"Hey kid, can I help you?" said the counter lady in a low, smooth voice, blood-manicured fingers clasping a thick register book. A pencil was tucked behind her right ear. I tried to ignore the buzzing of the floor vaccuum behind me, concentrating more on said pencil.

"Yeah...I'm Kyle and I -" somehow, my thought-shifting had worked: I could no longer remember what it was that I was here for. And I wish it could have stayed that way...

"I came here to see Dr. Fidel." I hung my head and looked down at my shoes. The lady nodded sympathetically, and scribbled something in the register book.

"For...?"

What? Did I have to tell here what I was here for? What was I supposed to say, "Yeah, I came here because I'm having thoughts of a relationship with my male best friend"?

"Uh, see, I'd rather not talk about it." I shrugged, desperately hoping that she wouldn't question any further.

Wait, what problem? I don't have a problem! It's all just a phase, and once I snap out of it, it'll be alright again! Who am I kidding, I don't have to be here! Something must have taken hold of me, to make me come to that dumb psychologist in the first place. but at least I could turn back, when it was still possible.

"Ma'am, I think I must have made a -"

"HAROLD! SOME GODDAMN BOY CALLED KYLE IS HERE TO SEE YOU!" yelled the lady in the direction of the corridor, startling me with just how much her voice could echo. My eyes grew larger and it seemed as though a chunk of lead was pressing my stomach down into my guts. I couldn't think anymore, I had to act.

"Er, it's alright now, I'll just leav -"

"Oh, Kyle," the woman brightened up, as though she had just remember that I was there. "You may see Dr. Fidel in Room 315. Down the passage, turn left, turn right, turn left again and you'll see it on your right hand side. Go on!" she shooed , noticing my deer-in-the-headlights expression.

Great. This was just absolutely fantastic. Any illusion that I had time to pull out of this idiocy was now shattered. I've heard rumours about psychiatrists being scary, psychopathic beings who help you but made you even more disturbed. I never used to believe them, even forgot about them until this very moment. How was my present life going to fuck up even more? It felt like God hated me. I'd never bring myself to admit it out loud, but Cartman was probably right about the whole 'being a Jew' thing. Even if he only said it because he was an ass.

I trudged forlornly through the wide corridors. Even the damn floor was white as I watched my feet drag across its pristine surface. I wanted to smile at the thought of Stan, how I would see him again and refresh my memory of just how much I had been taking his very being for granted. And if I never let anyone near me know, nothing bad would happen, and when it passed I could just treat it like fading dream...but I didn't. I didn't smile, because something inside me brought up the exact fact that ensured that I didn't.

He would never actually be _in love_ with me, Kyle Broflovski. He was merely my best friend, someone that I did everything with. Not a lover. In the end, every single fantasy that he would be would be torn to shreds by the truth.

Room 315. My mind didn't ever register it before I opened the door.

The room was wide and airy, and was painted the same colour as the rest of the clinic. I hated white, it reminded me of funerals. A man that must have been Dr. Fidel sat at the desk, fingers folded neatly into each other as they rested on the table.

"Why, good afternoon," he chided. "You must be Kyle. How nice it is to see you. I am Dr. Fidel, although you probably know that already." he tossed his head back and chuckled. Somehow, that gesture made me feel more at ease.

I studied his handsome facial features, noting his catlike green eyes and black hair especially. I let this stupid thought cross my mind: he looked like an amalgam of me and Stan. But what any potential mixture of us would lack beside him would have been his aura. An odd, tense smell drifted in the atmosphere around him but I couldn't put my finger on what it was.

"Right. Lets get started, shall we?" said Dr. Fidel, flipping out a tiny black notepad. He motioned at the empty seat facing him. "What are you here to see me for?"

I noticed that those green eyes never seemed to leave me. It made me feel uncomfortable, but I tried not to take notice of it. What was even more uncomfortable was that I was about to speak of all the things that have screwed up my life so far. I looked down at my hands. What I wanted to say was so hard to phrase...

"I like my best friend." I said. When I looked up again, his gaze was still fixed pointedly upon me.

"Well, Kyle, that's a good start. Of course, it's natural to like your best friend. You wouldn't be best friends if you didn't, eh?" he smiled.

"Yeah, but..." I swallowed. "I keep getting these strange thought about him. Really weird thoughts." My insides were sinking, but I found that the more I spoke, the easier the words came out.

"What is his name?"

"Stan...Marsh."

"Oh really?" I wished that everyone that I disclosed this information to would react the same way that Dr. Fidel did. He didn't look shocked, or angry, or disgusted. Just kind. A little too pensive, but kind and understanding all the same as he scribbled something in the notebook. "Would you mind giving me some examples? About these, 'thoughts'?"

And then, despite his encouraging words, I felt increasingly vulnerable; I began to worry. Something told me that I would regret answering that question. But it was as though this was what my subconscious had wanted all along - for someone to listen to what I had to say without judging me. "I..." I took a deep breath. "I sometimes wonder how it would feel to french kiss him," my throat felt dry as my thoughts slipped out of my grasp and displayed that reluctant, delusional fantasy in colours that looked as though they were real. "...how he would taste, and what it would feel like to have him return it..."

"And when I'm beside him, I suddenly get the urge to place my hand on top of his, or just hold him really tight and not have to let go -"

"Anything more intimate?" the quiet, intense murmur caused me to start. "More...erotic?"

What? Did he mean like -

"- like blowing him off or something?" I blurted, then clapped a stunned hand over my mouth. My face burnt. Why couldn't it cool off? Cool off, goddammit!

The slight, upward twitch of his lips was a definite _yes_.

"No," I said truthfully.

"Then he cannot be more than a best friend."

I balked.

"So who is he _really_ to you?" asked Dr. Fidel softly, emerald eyes chiding and sympathetic. He was leaning forward in his chair, and I could smell the cinnamon lingering in his breath.

I hesitated. _I didn't know._

"Think about it," he said. I shook my head, stood up and crossed the room to the glaring white window.

I stood there, eyes fixed on the misty panes. I wanted so much to reach out, trail our names on the window with a tentative finger. There was no other like him. He was special, and we were together. Maybe thinly so, but at least it had a chance of lasting forever. And while I was with him, I could take pleasure in small things, such as his soft, living hand next to mine, or his quiet breathing, or his warm body pressed against mine.

I shifted closer to the form behind me. It didn't matter what it was anymore. Or did it?

I froze, shocked. It wasn't anyone I wanted to be pressed against me like this.

A sudden chill passed though my body, darting through my limbs at it dawned.

Of course. It felt nothing like the Stan I had hoped would obliviously embrace me.

It was Dr. Fidel.

Long, lithe arms snaked slyly across my waist. Slowly, interlocking by my stomach to form a set of chains binding me to him. I didn't know how to react - it was too wrong, even by my own twisted, warped-by-recent-event standards. To try to break forwards would mean struggling against those treacherous, deft arm. To stay would mean having to sink my head back into his rapidly heaving chest.

My breath stopped short.

I felt sick.

I wanted to vomit.

To vomit at how _good_ it felt.

"Have you decided on your answer yet?" he spoke. Listening to his voice felt like having a bucket of lukewarm water dumped over my head. So smooth, slight - so...frightening. "Who is he to you?"

I said nothing, barely managing a whimper. _Who is he to me? Who is who?_ The someone I had been thinking about? What was his name? My mind went blank.

"Well?" Dr. Fidel's voice was now almost a purr as he bent his tapering form down to whisper in my ear. "Who is he, Stan Marsh, to you?"

Those words seemed to echo. I came to this place because of him. But I could not blame him. It was this fiend, the one locked behind me, that I should blame. Him, and me.

I didn't even notice the hot, angry tears that slithered down my cheeks, until I looked down at Dr. Fidel's fingers, how they were coated the the glossy liquid (1) that could only have been my own.

I was crying.

"Why the tears, Kyle?" Suddenly, I hated my name, hated how it rolled so easily off that fucker's tongue. But I knew now. Because even if Dr. Fidel told me that we weren't more than friends in any way, the idea of what would happen if we were didn't repulse me more than my other reveries did.

And then, the fact that I had been drilling into my head struck would strike home once again.

_He would never love me in that way!_

"Come on. Talk to me." the way his parted lips breathed hot air on my neck was killing me. I no long wanted or enjoyed his touch.

I wanted Stan's.

Everything about him flooded back to me in a torrent of memory, of senses, of life. His lovely rich laugh, the vast beautiful expanse locked in his deep blue eyes. His wonderful, melodious voice, and most of of all - _him.­_ The essence of his being, who he was.

He hugged me in the way that he reserved only for me; it made me feel like he'd never give me up for anything...this present, foreign intrusion felt like murder. The body behind me stung like acid; the room spun as I rolled my eyes back into my head. I wanted water, but intead I was drowning in a sick, heavy darkness.

I struggled against his perverted embrace, squirmed to rag myself out of his tained grasp. The cold air hit my skin, and I was free.

I ran out of the building, screaming.

PS: (1) Couldn't think of another word for tears...so I had to use this one. Gah. I can just imagine it being one of several other things...

Feedback cherished! Flames that are made with a valid reason are not flames, so please don't flame. Constructive criticism will be taken into consideration and doted upon.


	3. Suffocation

AN: Sorry it took that long! I am a very slow writer! Gah!

Disclaimer: Not yet. Not yet. Today South Park, Tomorrow The World...Mwahahahaha. MWAHAHAHA!

Thank you for all my lovely reviewers and readers!

Love, hugs and all sorts of boxed slashy goodies to: Anime Qtie, total misanthrope, BlackNeonTears and Jean19. You are all Teh Rockxz!

* * *

Hot water coursed down my body, the bathroom bled opaque steam. My skin stung as though it had been grazed, but I didn't stop scrubbing it. Hard. My fingers wrapped around the brush tighter and I bared my teeth.

"Ugh!" Goddammit I wanted the memory off me. I wanted the smell of cinnamon to flee me. The soap couldn't mask the smell, the biting brush couldn't reverse whatever that had happened to me this aftern...today. Tears of frustration mingled with the shower water ran into my mouth, their saltiness sickening me.

_Fuck._

I wasn't thinking. I saw the inside of the shower walls, but I didn't register that they were there.

"Kyle! What are you doing up there? You've been in the shower for more than an hour!" mom's piercing, nasal voice rang from downstairs. Whose fucking business was she minding? She didn't care for anything about me except for my grades. She would never take into consideration how I felt, how much pressure I was under.

"Nothing," I murmured absent-mindedly, seething with suppressed anger, resuming the scrubbing motions that had previously stopped. After this, I was going to sleep. Drown out this existence, if only for a while.

I shook my head, dazed. Someone was above me; I realised that it was a body that was straddling me at my hips. I tried to lift an arm, but came into contact with stiff fabric.

_I was on Stan's couch._

"_Kyle_," the voice above me said breathlessly. My heart soared as I lifted my gaze to the person staring back at me.

"_Kyle_," whispered Stan. "He said me would never be more than friends. I just want to prove," he bent over my face, smiling as he acknowledged my stunned expression "...how wrong he was."

He kissed me lightly - an innocent, closed contact of moist lips. But that move made all my shameful feelings towards him boil up against my chest, and I lost control - I never knew that it would happen so easily, just like letting go of something. And yet, my fingers buried thenselves in his unruly black tangles and pulled him in, longing for the taste of someone dear to me. I kissed him fiercely, prying at his warm mouth with my tongue, and it was only moments before he returned it with equal fervour. My eyes slipped shut and I arched my back, shifting myself so that I pressed even harder against him. I loved the way he tasted as he moaned into my mouth, wanted it to last forever - but then he broke away, and the air flooded in my lungs as I gasped.

"Kyle..." my eyelids flew open at the lazy drawl that sounded nothing like my best friend, "you're the most gullible, most insecure person I ever wanted...don't worry...I have you..."

The leering green eyes were the last things that I saw before I woke up with a start. My mouth was open wide but no sound emanated from it except for a dull, hoarse moan. Sweat made my pajamas cling to my hot, trembling form. _It was him again..._

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. My alarm clock rang for seven o' clock. I closed my eyes and bit my bottom lip hard as I sat up from bed.

* * *

" - and then she was like 'Oh my God Eric you're so hot!' and her friend was all over me, and then I -"

"Hey Kyle."

"Oh, hey Kyle." Stan said quietly. I hadn't actually realised that my head hung all the way to the bustop until getting there. I wished that he didn't speak, much less only notice me after Kenny did.

"- yeah, so -"

"Cartman, do you mind shutting the fuck up?" snapped Stan angrily. His voice headed back in my direction. "Dude, what's the matter? You look...weird."

_You have no idea_, I mentally said to him. I couldn't even look at him. I didn't want to look up. I still wanted to be with him. He was the only person in the world that I really cared about. But nearer to the acceptance, there seemed to be a tinge of...disgust. As if he knew what I had been thinking of him and what that had led to.

"Oh of course I mind," Cartman's voice pervaded my ears again. "And let me show you just how much." He farted. Next to him, Kenny snickered.

No one spoke for a while. Suddenly, I wondered why I even bothered to hang around these so-called friends. They meant nothing, just people I tagged along with and hung around. But maybe they were at least normal. Maybe I just wasn't the type to fit in with them - but at least I'd try. For now.

"Dude!"

"Yeah?" I pushed all the emotional turmoil into some insignificant corner in my stomach and responded to Stan's interjection.

"Aren't you going to get on the bus?"

I shook my head and found myself alone on the pavement with Stan beckoning to me from the inside of the school bus.

I shut the door behind me as I boarded. The inside of the bus was warm with the breath of the passengers, contrasting sharply with ouside's icy cold. I followed Stan to the back seats, eyes glazed as I passed the other rows, an array of hazy colours. I sat down near the window side of of the bus next to Stan. I felt odd. Damn Cartman. If he wasn't so goddman fat, the four of us wouldn't be squashed together like this. The friction that Stan's firm thigh created against mine each time the bus swerved to one side was unbearable, a mixture of emotional pain and secret pleasure. I suppressed the feverish urge to shift up against him and satisfy my craving of his touch and glared pointedly at the dirty isle floor until my eyes watered.

Something felt wrong; unnervingly exposing. I felt as though I was being watched by the white window. My breath made the streak of steam on the glass pulse rhythmically. Then I remembered - and broke out in a cold sweat, shivers gripping me in their ghostly fingers.

_He tried to touch me...near the window._

My mind only allowed this one thought to come to me. I was confused as to what happened before and after that - but as moments passed it became more and more difficult to contain the paranoia that came with sitting near the glass...

"Stan, is it alright if you and I swap places?" I said carefully. Stan grinned and stood up, balancing himself with the head of Clyde's seat.

"Yeah, whatever."

I got up, swaying slightly from the movement of the bus and switched seats with Stan. Kenny looked at me and gave a small wave of acknowledgement. The corners of my mouth twitched into a tight smile and I twirled my hands in my lap.

"Why's everybody so quiet?" I commented lightly to no one in particular.

"Dude, it's always _been_ this quiet." I immediately felt stupid as Stan answered my question boredly, regretting asking it.

"Hey, you guys heard about that Couselling center down the road? It's getting knocked down the day after tomorrow!" I turned to Cartman, half-digesting the words that dribbled out his thick lips.

"Yeah, stupid motherfuckers had nothing better to do," said Kenny, and coughed. I watched his fist rise to his mouth and noted the black ink stain on his sleeve - I almost did feel sorry for him, at times. I'd never be able to survive being so fucking poor. A stream of water vapour issued from his lips into the cold air.

"I bet they've just gone out of business," shrugged Stan next to me. I closed my eyes and leaned forwards, sighing inaudibly as I wondered at being right beside me, to have him look upon me as a friend. It was altogether a bit much, really. I wished that I could kiss him; to close the reamining gap between us with a simple affirmation of love. It was not that easy, I knew. But closer to the object of my sick desires, every strand of reason and logic was warped beyond repair, so that nothing made much sense anymore. The only fact that kept me from him faded into a wisp of nothing.

My vision snapped back to me as some normal, everyday _Kyle_ part of my head reminded me to say something to avoid looking like a spaced-out penishead. But everything that I said today felt either hideously wrong or instrinsically stupid. God, stitch my mouth if I talk shit right now. Stitch my mouth.

"What's getting knocked down?"

The remaining three of my group made no answer but looked at me. What?

"Oh, it looks like our little Jewy here is off fantasizing about getting half-price off his matzoh ball soup again, mmm?" Cartman leaned sideways in my direction, face every bit as jeering as what he said. "Well, Kyle, your more _upper-class_ associates and I were just discussing the impending deconstruction of Tom John's Counselling center. Do I need to repeat that or are you getting the soup for free now?"

"Shut up you assfucking faggot!" my mouth gave an automatic, lacklustre response.

The news didn't hit me as much as the mention of the place did.

"_Tom John's Counselling Clinic?_" I breathed; my face felt like I had just received a botox-injection.

"Yeah. What?" said Cartman, looking evidently surprised at my expression.

"I've been there before," I replied without thinking.

"What? You've actually been to that shithole and you never told us?" said Stan, outraged.

_FUCK! _My mind reeled in panic at what I just said, what I had unwittingly implied. Blood surged to my face and it burned bright red staying that way despite every one of my attempts to relax.

"Er - I went there to get some...thing for my - my dad," I tried shrugging it off with a careless toss of my shoulders, but every part of my body seemed as rigid and stiff as cardboard.

"Yeah, like we've never heard _that_ one before," Kenny rolled his eyes and coughed again. I felt him spasm next to me and wished that I could do the same.

"What's wrong with your dad?"

I thought quickly, something that I was immensely thankful of. Yet deep inside I wanted to kick myself for choosing the easy way out. I never actually knew what his response to my...feelings...would be, and if I had been a little more truthful I'd probably find out. Still, I didn't want to risk any other people knowing as well, so I guess my restraint was a good thing.

"I don't want to talk about it." Lame as the excuse was, I didn't know what else to say.

"Aw come on dude, you can tell me anything," Stan draped a casual arm over my shoulders and rubbed my back soothingly.

_Please stop doing that,_ I told him in my mind. _Please don't make it worse..._

It made me want to grab him and show him exactly how serious my secret was.

I never knew I had so much willpower.

I shook my head dumbly and, with a slight heave of my arms managed to coax the offending hand off, immediately regretting doing so when the touch drew away. It was immediately after this that I felt eyes boring holes in me - Kenny's eyes. I looked up and returned the look, more confident than I had been.

"I bet he can't get it up," intoned Cartman as the bus ground to a halt in front of South Park Junior High, "Like what they say about Jews - they're always flaccid."

At that moment I wanted to punch the fat fuck right in the gonads for conjuring images in my mind that, everything I had been thinking about aside, were things I'd rather not have to see. Of course it wasn't true, just one of his insanely sociopathic comments, but I could not forgive him for that.

I hesitated to let the thought slip by that implied that I'd never be flaccid for Stan.

* * *

"Alright class, this is a test, so as usual, no talking, no noise. You have an hour to complete this test, I want you all to try your best," Mr Reed said in his nasally voice as he handed out the algebra papers. I felt confident that I would at least be able to complete this test without any difficulties. But in the back of my head, my thought drifted, almost obsessively, to _him_. I did not even need to think that name anymore. I knew ho his was, and I could see his smiling face, smell his vanilla-tinted breath and hear the clear, self-assured baritone of his voice. I did not even think of the things he did, the times we shared, or even my feelings for him. It was just Stan. Just him, overwhelming my train of thought...

And then, the bleach-white paper made me think of something else.

Green cat eyes.

I stared at the paper, transfixed. The numbers and symbols meant nothing; my mind refused to process anything no matter how I tried to force-feed it information.

"_What the fuck..._" My jaws dropped as my eyes glazed over. My head started to spin with a swirling mass of darkness...

_...most gullible, most insecure person I've ever wanted...don't worry...I have you..._

"Hey," hissed Kenny. "Got an eraser?" I grabbed my eraser from my desk and tossed it clumsily behind me.

"Thanks."

My attention snapped back to the test in front of me. I saw nothing. I couldn't even hear the silence...

_You're my best friend, and nothing's gonna take you away from me._

"Think, _think_, goddamit!" I prayed, desperation staining my words as I pulled, frustrated, on the corners of my hat. The clock at the back of the classroom ticked mercilessly, every second drawing me nearer to doom.

_Then he cannot be more than a best friend_

"Five more minutes!" Mr Reed's warning hung like doom amidst the background noises of rustling sheets.

_**- like blowing him off or something?**_

"AAAARGH! _AAAARGH!_"

"Mr Broflovski! What a disgrace!"

I kept on yelling, yelling at the top of my lungs in the hopes that it would relieve some of the pressure burning in my body.

"Dude, what the matter with you?" Stan watched me from the corner of his eyes, and I could just feel him edging away from me like I was some kind of lunatic. Then again, so was the rest of the class.

"Mr Broflovski, I am having you placed on detention for this afternoon where you can scream all you want, you hear?"

Of course I heard. But that only succeeded in me drawing a deep breath and yelling even louder. I wanted to puke. The weight of everything seemed so much heavier; my life was hitting an all-time low.

I wanted to puke.

Puke.

I did. All over my hastily scribbled algebra examination.

All over Stan.


End file.
